Anmol did as he was told. He sat on the cool, sandy floor of the ancient chamber, closed his eyes, and got ready to learn. The world outside, his family, his old life—it all faded away. The only things that mattered now were the voice of his teacher and the power waiting to be unlocked.
"You have felt the cheetah's speed in stories and seen it in pictures," Simhavyagrah's voice filled his mind. It was a calm, deep sound, like the rumbling of the earth. "But to use its power, you must feel its spirit. The Stamp is a bridge between your mind and the animal's soul. To call upon a power, you must first picture the animal. See it clearly in your thoughts. Become the hunt. Close your eyes, Anmol. Listen to my voice and see what I show you."
Anmol closed his eyes and focused his thoughts. He pictured a cheetah, its spotted coat, its lean muscles, and its black, tear-like facial markings. As the image became clear, the world of the cave faded away entirely.
He was no longer in a dark, cool room. He was under a hot, open sun on a wide, golden savanna. He could smell the dry grass and the distant scent of rain on the air. He felt a deep, coiled power in his legs, a body that was made for one thing only: running. His heart was a drum, beating fast and strong, a rhythm of pure life and energy. His mind was completely clear, focused only on a herd of deer in the distance. There was no fear, no worry, just the single, burning need to run.
And then he was running. The ground flew by under paws that barely touched it. It was a feeling of pure speed, a beautiful, explosive moment that used up every bit of his energy. It was a joy so intense it felt like his very soul was on fire.
Just as quickly as it came, the feeling was gone. Anmol opened his eyes, gasping for air. His own heart was pounding in his chest as if he had just run a long race. He was back in the cave, but the feeling of that amazing speed was still tingling in his muscles.
"You have felt it," Simhavyagrah's voice said. "Now, command it. Stand up. Picture the cheetah, and run."
Anmol got to his feet, his legs feeling a little shaky. He took a deep breath, pictured the cheetah, and ran across the chamber. But he was just a boy, running. His sneakers slapped against the sandy floor. He reached the other side, a little out of breath, but it was nothing special. He looked back, his face filled with disappointment.
"You are trying to run like a cheetah," Simhavyagrah explained patiently. "You are using your memory of the feeling. That is not the way. You must let the spirit of the cheetah run through you. Do not think about your legs. Do not think about running. Just hold the image of the cheetah in your mind. See only the animal, and let its spirit do the rest. Feel it."
Anmol walked back to his starting spot. This time, he didn't look at the wall in front of him. He closed his eyes and brought the image of the cheetah back into his mind, making it as real as he could. He saw its focused eyes, felt its powerful heart. He opened his eyes and pushed off, his mind holding onto nothing but the animal.
The world vanished.
There was a sudden rush of air and a loud THUD.
Anmol found himself slammed against the far wall of the chamber. The impact knocked the wind right out of him. He slid to the floor, dizzy and stunned. He hadn't even seen himself move. One second he was on one side of the cave; the next second he was on the other. His muscles burned with a fiery ache, a protest from a human body forced to do something inhuman.
Simhavyagrah was now standing over him. "The power is there," the lion's thought was calm. "But your body is not yet ready for it. You have the speed, but not the control. This is what you must train."
Before Anmol could even catch his breath, Simhavyagrah said, "Now, for strength. The body of the cheetah is built for speed, but it is fragile. You will need power that can endure. You will need the strength of the Indian bison."
The lion guided him through another vision. Anmol focused his mind, picturing the indian bison, the great Indian bison, with its immense shoulders and thick, curved horns. He felt the huge, heavy weight of the animal, the power in its thick neck, the way its hooves felt planted deep in the earth, and a stubborn strength that could not be moved. This was not the quick, burning fire of the cheetah; this was the slow, unstoppable power of the mountain itself.
When Anmol came back to himself, Simhavyagrah nodded his head toward a huge, broken piece of a stone pillar in the corner of the room. It was as big as a small car. "That is a piece of the mountain. A indian bison can move a mountain if it stands in its way. Try."
Anmol walked over to the giant rock. It looked impossible. He put his hands on its rough, cool surface and pushed with all his might. His muscles strained, his face turned red, but the rock didn't even shake.
You are using your own strength, Simhavyagrah's voice reminded him. That is the strength of a boy. Forget your arms. Forget pushing. See only the Indian bison. Let its spirit fill you.
Anmol took a step back, breathing hard. He closed his eyes and remembered the feeling of being the Indian bison. He felt that deep, heavy, stubborn power coming up from the ground, through his legs, and into his chest. He let out a deep roar that didn't sound like his own, and he threw his shoulder against the rock.
There was a loud, groaning sound of stone scraping against stone. The huge rock slid a few inches before stopping with a heavy thump.
The power left him in a rush, and he fell to his knees, his whole body shaking with effort. He had done it, but it had taken every bit of his energy.
"Do you see now?" Simhavyagrah said, his voice softer. "The Stamp offers you the power of a great river. But your body is still just a small cup. If you try to hold the whole river at once, you will break. You must learn to use only what you need. This is your most important lesson."
The training went on for what felt like hours. Simhavyagrah taught him to call upon the spirit of the monkey. Anmol, thinking of the agile primate, felt a strange lightness in his body, a perfect sense of balance. He learned to climb the smooth, glowing walls of the chamber, his fingers and feet finding tiny holds he couldn't even see. He learned to leap from pillar to pillar, moving with a fluid, acrobatic grace that was not his own.
Then came the lesson of the eagle. Anmol focused on the great bird of prey, and the chamber exploded into incredible detail. He could see the faint cracks in the stone on the ceiling high above, the tiny insects crawling on the floor, everything perfectly clear and sharp.
He spent hours learning and practicing, pushing his body to its limits. He learned what it felt like to have the tough hide of a rhinoceros, the silent movement of a leopard, and the sharp hearing of a deer. Each new spirit left him tired but filled with a new and wonderful power. To use a power, he just had to think of the animal, to see it in his mind, and the Stamp would build the bridge.
Finally, as Anmol lay on the ground, panting and sore but feeling more alive than ever, Simhavyagrah's voice came to him. "You have done well. The spirits have accepted you, but your human muscles must get used to their power. You have learned how to use the Animal Stamp."
Anmol slowly got to his feet. He felt a deep ache in every part of his body but also a new and exciting strength bubbling just under his skin. He was not the same boy who had fallen into this cave.
"Now you need to train yourself," Simhavyagrah's voice continued, a serious tone entering his mind. "This power is not just for you. The Stamp chose a protector, a host who would stand for the balance of the wild and the innocent. You need to help other people with your power."
A strange thought dawned on Anmol. He could run faster than a car, move boulders, see for miles, and talk to animals. He was something more now. "I have become a superhero," he said out loud, the idea sounding both crazy and wonderful. He then looked down at his torn t-shirt and dusty jeans. "But I don't have any suit."
Simhavyagrah let out a low, rumbling chuckle. "Suit yourself," the lion's thought was filled with amusement. "The Animal Stamp is more than just a key to power. It is a part of you. It will give you a suit that fits not your body, but your personality, your spirit. When the time comes, it will answer your call."
Anmol felt a thrill run through him. A suit that came from the Stamp itself. It was more than he could have ever imagined.
"It is time for you to go," Simhavyagrah said. "Your training here is done for now. Your real training will be in the world outside."
Anmol looked around. The hole he fell through was too high. "How do I get back?"
"You are the host of the Animal Stamp now," Simhavyagrah said. "It is bonded to you. Ask it."
Anmol spotted his backpack and dart gun near the spot where he had landed. He quickly gathered his things, checking to make sure his camera was okay. Then he looked back up at the jagged hole in the ceiling. It seemed impossibly far away.
"The world will not give you an easy path," Simhavyagrah's voice said. "Use what you have learned."
Anmol understood. He took a deep breath, slung his bag over his shoulder, and pictured the monkey in his mind. He felt that familiar lightness enter his body, a perfect sense of balance settling over him. He looked at the rough chamber wall, no longer seeing a flat surface, but a ladder of tiny cracks and ledges.
With a nod to his teacher, he began to climb. His fingers found holds a normal person could never use. His feet found tiny ledges on the near-vertical wall. He moved with a new confidence, a smooth and steady rhythm, just like a monkey climbing a tall tree.
After a long climb that left his muscles burning, his hand finally grabbed the broken edge of the hole. With one last pull, he got himself up and onto the floor of the upper cave. He was breathing heavily, but he had done it.
He walked to the cave entrance and stepped out. The sun was setting, and as he was walking in the forest, it was almost night.
[To be continued…]
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Author: Vansh Rahate
Editor: Vansh Rahate
Story by: Vansh Rahate
Under: Alaukika Studios